


Perspective

by yeaka



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Anal Sex, Bondage, M/M, Rough Sex, Star Trek: Into Darkness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-04
Updated: 2013-06-04
Packaged: 2017-12-13 22:55:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,765
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/829805
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Khan sets out to make an ally before the storm comes, and it’s both too easy and wrong.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Perspective

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Aurys](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aurys/gifts).



> Disclaimer: I don’t own Star Trek or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

Allies are always good things, and he’s strategic with how he does it. The less people that know his face before the fallout, the better, so he has to make the ones he finds _count_. He finds himself a warrior, a helmsman aboard the flagship with a fighter’s body and a scholar’s mind, training on everything and an inner solitude. A young thing, but that energy might come in handy. 

Everyone’s younger than Khan, anyway. And no one’s as useful. He settles for what he can find. He has time to pass while he waits for the right opportunity, for everyone he wants dead to be in town, for all the information to be in one place, for the possibility, the vague notion that he might be able to get his crew out. 

He finds the man in a public pool, doing laps. Khan has no interest in sharing human-infested waters, but he takes the opportunity. He enters the change rooms and strips off all his clothes, down to trunks obtained just for this purpose, leaving everything folded neatly in a cubby next to the pile the other man came in with. Then he steps into the showers—not sonic, but old fashioned, letting all the water stream down him. 

He closes his eyes and he waits. He doesn’t have to wait long. 

The man—Mr. Sulu—comes around the corner of the pool, dripping wet and bee-lining for the showers, trailing chlorine puddles. His dark hair’s slicked down around his face, strong chest exposed, golden skin glistening in the florescent light. His blue boxers are clinging to his thighs, outlining his package, and Khan sneaks glances in between Sulu’s blinks, sizing up the chance. Khan’s always subtle and never gets caught. He acts like he doesn’t notice Sulu. He’s the only one in the showers, lathering up his hair and letting the soap trickle down his arms and shoulders. 

He turns around as Sulu reaches him, facing the faucet. The water’s sizzling hot, and the room is thick with steam. Sulu turns on the faucet next to him and steps under the downpour, feet clicking against the white tiles. Everything in the showers is a stark white, except for the two of them and the red bottles of soap. Shampoo and conditioner in one. Some people still enjoy the luxury of both—the excuse to bathe longer. Khan doesn’t have time for that nonsense. 

Except for today, when all he has time for is taking care of _other_ needs and setting things up. Sulu shakes out his hair and runs his hands through it, glancing surreptitiously sideways. He isn’t as subtle as he thinks; Khan sees everything. But Khan pretends not to notice. He arches his body and tosses back his head, eyes closed and letting his hands roam all over his wet skin, down his chest and over his nipples, raunchy without being obvious. Accidentally erotic. When he glances over through half-lidded eyes, Sulu’s _staring_.

He covers it, cool as can be, by asking, “Could you pass the soap?”

Khan nods like he’s been given a comm number. He grabs the bottle but deliberately lets it fall through his slippery fingers. That way he can bend down, legs spread, picking the bottle up slowly, straightening again and holding it out. He wants all of his assets on display—he’s proud of every centimeter. 

Judging by the look on Sulu’s face, he appreciates it. He takes the soap and says hoarsely, “Thanks.”

“No problem,” Khan purrs, voice low and deep. Then he closes his eyes and returns to the shower, washing out his hair. 

It’s hard to find opportunities to steal his own glances, because he can only do it when Sulu looks away, but that isn’t often. Fortunately, Khan has excellent peripheral vision. He’s able to examine every curve, every sharp angle, note all of the small imperfections and the larger bit of perfection, everything that Sulu’s body has to offer. Fit, trim. A six-pack, not as hard as Khan’s. Slim body, not too thin. Strong arms, strong thighs, slender fingers and smallish feet. A sizeable package. A taut ass, round and young. Ripe for the taking. When Sulu gets water droplets clinging to his eyelashes and he has to flutter them off, he looks like a movie star. Khan picks his subjects for a variety of reasons, and Sulu fulfills them all.

When Sulu’s hair is clearly washed and the soap’s run all over his body, down the curve of his spine and over his brown nipples, down to the little patch of black fuzz dipping into his swimming trunks, Khan turns off his faucet. He steps away from Sulu and punches in the command for a sonic dry, letting the hot air billow over himself, drying up all the water. He runs his fingers through his hair to smooth it back down, and then he heads over to the cubbies in the corner. He knows Sulu’s right behind him; he makes note of every footstep. 

They wind up changing right next to each other. Khan wears his trunks like underwear so he doesn’t have to give everything away—let Sulu’s imagination do the rest, leave him curious and wanting. Khan steps into his black pants and pulls the black shirt over his head, plain and perforated, angled like all of Starfleet’s clothes. His next shirt has the badge on it, and Sulu glances sideways, halfway into his own pants, asking, “Oh, you’re in Starfleet too?”

Khan grins like this is a surprise, straightening out his shirt and turning sideways. “Why, yes. Commander John Harrison.” He holds out his hand, which Sulu takes. Khan wraps his fingers around it and shakes it firmly, curt but strong. 

“Lieutenant Hikaru Sulu, Sir.” As their hands fall, Sulu hesitates to say, clearly trying to draw it out as Khan’s made it so easy, “I work on the Enterprise.”

“Do you?” Khan asks, feigning interest. Every officer knows every ship, but the Enterprise is noteworthy in particular. “I confess I have nothing as interesting to say; I’ve been stationed on Earth for quite a while. I suppose you’ve had all sorts of grand adventures that don’t make their way into reports.”

Sulu laughs. “I wouldn’t say that. I’m just the helmsman anyway.”

“On the bridge? Impressive.” He eyes Sulu appraisingly, as though seeing him for the first time. An obvious gesture to somebody looking for it.

There’s a slight twinge to Sulu’s lips: a restrained smile; he’s looking for it. “I suppose I do have a few stories to tell, but it’s not really poolside gossip—would take a bit of time.” He turns and pulls his shirt over his head, the fabric stretching into place: a grey, long-sleeved shirt that leaves little to the imagination. 

Khan shrugs on his trench coat: the last of his things. “You’re in luck, Lieutenant. You’ve caught me on an off-duty day. Perhaps you’d like to share some of your insights over coffee?”

Sulu gestures to the door, grinning to his eyes. 

It’s too easy.

* * *

It’s a small place in an enclosed villa, and they sit on the patio next to a makeshift village square. High malls line the edges, and people mill about uselessly; it’s a quiet, pleasant day. 

Sulu orders an iced drink while Khan stirs his black coffee, legs stretched out and spread back. He keeps his posture careful but lax, attractive but at ease. The impression that he’s both desirable and available. Sulu leans forward, gesturing vaguely with his hands as he explains his roll in the Vulcan tragedy. A straight drop to a sword fight and a parachute malfunction. Certain death and a reckless captain, somehow getting them out alive. Captain Kirk, Khan notes. A name to remember, apparently. 

Someone who’ll be around when Khan comes out, phasers blazing. All the captain’s are going down. It’ll be good to have a man on a starship after that step, and every time Khan smiles, he knows he’s cementing the hold he’s going to have on Sulu. If anything goes wrong, he wants men on the outside. 

Men who can be bought with easy things like sex and ‘love,’ in particular, are both efficient and extra malleable. Khan isn’t sure which category Sulu falls into yet, but he’s Earthbound and doesn’t seem particularly interested in any currency. He’s probably the love sort, although he mustn’t be that hard to bed. He laughs at a bad joke Khan makes simply to test the waters. 

He explains the first time he took the Enterprise out—covering for another officer and forgetting to disengage the inertial dampener. “Completely embarrassed, but I got there,” Sulu laughs. He adds quickly over the brim of his cup, “She flies like a dream, now. I swear I know what I’m doing.”

Khan chuckles as though that’s amusing, and he purrs, “I’m sure you do. ...You’re quite an impressive man, Hikaru.” The table’s small enough that Khan can drop his hand underneath and place it on Sulu’s knee, resting there conspicuously. Sulu’s eyes flicker down. 

Khan drains the bottom of his cup and asks, “Perhaps we should get something to eat?”

“Now?” Sulu asks, shifting a tiny bit down so his leg slips in Khan’s grasp, sending Khan’s fingers higher up his thigh. 

“A Starfleet officer’s time is so unpredictable. You could be past the sky tomorrow—why not go now?” And he’s making so much headway now and could get so much further. Sulu’s eating out of his hand like a squirrel. 

Sulu puts down his cup. “I know a nice bar down the corner.”

* * *

‘Nice’ is a relative term. 

The place isn’t quite seedy, but it certainly isn’t elegant. Khan and Sulu take a high table in the back, dimly lit with a diamond-shaped bulb overhead, flickering between yellow and orange. A Bolarian woman serves them, and Khan orders for both of them: the show of control right out the gate. They’re brought dragon bowls with chopsticks sticking out the side and tall, bubbly drinks. Sulu doesn’t protest. 

Sulu swaps a few looks between the busy club-like dance floor and Khan while they eat. Khan gives away edited and arbitrary stories of his work as he goes through the shaved beets on top, and Sulu looks inordinately impressed at every little thing. When Sulu’s glass is half-empty, Khan shifts a little closer around the table. It’s smaller than the one at the coffee shop was. It’s getting later. Khan puts his hand on Sulu’s upper thigh, leaning closer to hiss, “Would you like to dance, Hikaru?”

Sulu shudders and nods.

It’s clear that he usually leads. They aren’t doing that sort of dancing, just weaving between the mass of humans and aliens, grinding to the heavy, electronic beat and flowing. But Khan still _leads_. He holds Sulu’s waist when he wants to, pulls Sulu in when he wants to, bends Sulu back when he wants to and leans over him, swallowing him in shadow. Khan splays his fingers along the back of Sulu’s neck and tilts his head up, sticking one leg between his and suggesting, “Why don’t we get out of here?” 

Sulu licks his lips. He has confidence, but it trickles away under Khan’s sheer dominance. Khan can see Sulu melting before him, becoming powerless and _marked._

Khan’s good at dancing. He’s good at everything. But it isn’t enough—it’s a waste of his talents, of his time. The way Sulu’s lithe but strong body works against his is making his blood boil, his fingers wanting more. 

Sulu’s cheeks are a little dark, pupils a little dilated. Thinking the same thing. He licks his lips and breathes, “Okay.”

* * *

Even though Khan changes location every few days, he doesn’t want to give away any trails. It’s Sulu’s door they stumble against—they don’t open fast enough. Khan shoves him through and lets the doors snap shut behind them, and then he’s got Sulu against the nearest wall. Sulu fumbles with his trench coat, and Khan helps shrug it off his shoulders without parting their lips—he’s shoving his tongue down Sulu’s throat and has no intention of stopping. 

Sulu, it turns out, is worth all the effort. Job position and talents aside, he knows what he’s doing with his mouth and his fingers. He’s tracing Khan’s shoulders and biceps while Khan traces his hips, grinding him into the wall, both their hips frantic and tenting. Khan doesn’t bother to look around—he doesn’t need to find out what his pets live like. He shoves Sulu down the little hallway without stopping, making out the whole way, holding onto him and forcing him to stumble backwards into his own place. Sulu doesn’t once protest. But then, his mouth isn’t free to. 

They pass a little kitchenette, an open bathroom and a living room of sorts, all the lights turned off, but it doesn’t matter. Khan drags Sulu into a bedroom, with potted plants in each corner and a moving map of the stars above the bed. There are several swords mounted on the far wall behind glass, intricately designed and well displayed. Khan catches all this through peripherals, and he kisses his way up to Sulu’s ear to growl, “Turn the lights on halfway.”

Sulu moans, “L-lights... setting four...” And then they’re in a hazy, orange glow, just enough for Khan to properly appreciate what he’s getting. He likes to see the things he fucks, seeing as how he only fucks the best he can find. He shoves Sulu backwards onto the large, made bed, and Sulu falls against it. The way Sulu lifts up on his elbows and stares up at Khan, chest heaving and lips kiss swollen, is perfect. He isn’t a weak little cadet for Khan to roll over, but he doesn’t get up—he still knows his place. He’s strong, but Khan’s stronger. 

Khan puts a knee on the bed. Sulu’s smart. He crawls backwards, staring up at Khan, making room on the bed, until he’s lying all across it, feet off the floor. Then Khan lowers slowly down to his hands and knees, crawling up over Sulu with the grin of a wolf. He brings their lips back together, gently at first, then harder and harder, until he’s grating Sulu into the mattress and fucking Sulu’s warm, wet mouth with his tongue. It tastes of spices and alcohol, and Sulu smells like the sex Khan wants. 

He only pulls apart when he knows he’s made it hard for Sulu to breathe. Then he rips off his own shirt, tossing it aimlessly across the room, grabbing Sulu’s and doing the same. He isn’t going to be careful or wait. He wants his cock in his catch _now_. He wanted it back at the pool and now he’ll get it. The pants are next, and Sulu helpfully brings his legs up so Khan can tug it all down and throw it away. He peels Sulu’s boxers with them. He doesn’t get out of his own pants, and when Sulu tugs at his belt loop, Khan slaps him hard across the face. 

Sulu’s head snaps sideways. He gasps. He doesn’t have time to move. Khan’s on his neck, biting it hard and grabbing Sulu’s wrists, pinning them to the bed and humping him like a dog. Showing him who’s boss. Sulu groans under the attention. He tenses and he tries to move his arms, but he’s nothing, Khan is everything. He could pin an elephant down, and he holds Sulu like a rag doll, tearing at his skin and leaving angry, red teeth marks. Khan sucks and he licks, and then he nips his way back up Sulu’s jaw, back to his mouth. Khan thrusts his tongue inside. 

He moves Sulu’s hands up, catching Sulu by surprise, making it easy, and he holds them both there in one hand, so he can slither the other down his own body. He pulls out his belt, worn just for occasions like this. Then he’s back to Sulu’s wrists, and he pulls back to roll Sulu over, onto his front. 

Sulu turns his cheek in the blankets, dark eyes looking up at Khan, and he pants, “What’re you... what’re you doing...?”

Khan bends Sulu’s arms back, hand to elbow. He ties them together easily with his belt and explains, “I like it rough.” He raises a challenging eyebrow, daring Sulu to stop him. Sulu moans, but that might be because Khan’s running his hands over Sulu’s back, up his shoulder blades, around his bound arms, down the curve of his spine to his ass. He’s a pretty thing, tied up like this, all pale skin and luscious curves, thin limbs and small waist, toned in all the right places. If he’s obedient too, he’ll be worth a second trip. 

But everyone’s obedient under Khan, eventually. One way or another. There’s a part of Khan that wishes he could do this at his place—have all his supplies, all the time. He wants to drag Sulu up the bed, position him properly, but it’d be more fun to drag him with a collar around his neck, grab him by it and half choke him. Sulu would make a nice dog. A guard dog, maybe. Would he be good on a leash? If he wouldn’t, he could always be trained...

As is, Khan has to make do sitting up and grabbing him by the arms, pulling him up and switching him around, so his head’s in the pillows, the rest of him spread out. Sulu lets himself be taken, but he’s watching Khan intensely. Khan bends down to kiss the back of his neck, and it earns him a wince. 

Feeling oddly benevolent, Khan hisses, “Now... should I use lube...?”

To his surprise and delight, Sulu mumbles, eyes closed, “I thought you liked it rough.” He’s rewarded with a chuckle. Khan ruffles his hair to earn another grimace, and then Khan pulls back to slap Sulu’s ass. Sulu makes a short yelping noise, then grits his teeth. Khan slaps him again and makes Sulu grunt. Another slap, then another, back and forth across his ripe, round ass. When it’s nice and pink, Khan stops to spit on it. He does that a few times, then he uses his finger to run down Sulu’s crack, rubbing the saliva against his hole, slick and puckered. 

Khan pauses only once, so he can pull apart Sulu’s cheeks and get a good look at it, still closed and tight. Khan smirks and drawls, “You have a very nice ass, Lieutenant...”

Sulu audibly struggles to keep his voice level, but he manages, “Thank you, Commander.”

The smirk grows. What a good plaything. Khan pets Sulu’s ass fondly before he plunges the blunt tip of his finger inside, making Sulu cry out and arch. Khan isn’t gentle about it. He slides in all the way to the knuckle, forcing Sulu’s velvet walls to part, skilled enough not to tear, but so close on purpose. He gets knuckle-deep and wriggles it around, drinking in the way Sulu squirms, legs lifting, bent at the knees and toes curling. Khan fingers Sulu idly. Then he drawls, “Want another...?”

Sulu just nods. Khan uses his free hand to slap Sulu’s ass, and Sulu grunts and mutters, “I want another.” So Khan obliges, slipping his finger out to add a second, again too fast and too hard.

Scissoring Sulu apart isn’t too difficult. He clear has a mastery over his body; he relaxes his muscles and does his best to breathe. Khan gets him nice and wide, spitting on it again just to see the way it slips down into his hole. Khan knows his fingers are long. He could make this really pleasurable for Sulu if he wanted to—hit the right spots. But he doesn’t. He doesn’t check if Sulu is hard against the mattress. So long as Sulu will come back to him later, it doesn’t matter. 

Sulu will come back to him. He’ll give Sulu what no one else can, and he’ll brand a reminder into Sulu’s pale skin, more to match the bite marks. Sulu could heal them, but he won’t. He’ll finger them next time he touches himself, and he’ll think of Khan when he comes, and if the time should ever come when he’s needed, he’ll get on his knees and do what he’s told. 

The future makes Khan harder. All the things he’ll manage, all the things he’ll take. He pulls out his fingers, and he gets up on his knees, and he pulls Sulu’s ass into the air. Sulu’s legs spread subserviently, holding himself up, cheek still pressed to the pillows, dark eyes still watching Khan like a hawk. His neck must be sore, but he doesn’t complain. His cock is hanging between his legs, hard as a rock. Khan reaches under to pet his smooth balls, tugging on them lightly, but avoiding Sulu’s cock. Sulu closes his eyes. 

Khan presses the tip of his cock against Sulu’s hole, open and dribbling spit. Khan holds Sulu’s hips firmly, ready to bruise. 

Then he slams inside.

Sulu screams, arches, and squirms, but Khan holds him firmly down, firmly stuck, impaled fully on Khan’s massive cock, right to the balls. Sulu’s ass isn’t big enough for it, and it wouldn’t have gone in if Khan didn’t have the extra strength to force it. Khan pauses to moan. Just experiencing the exquisite feeling of tight, hot walls, twitching all around him. Sulu doesn’t stop screaming, and his arms struggle against Khan’s belt, hair sweat-damp in the pillow. But there’s nothing he can do. He’s at Khan’s mercy, of which Khan has none. 

“A very nice ass,” Khan chuckles, repeating it low. Then he hisses, “If you keep screaming like that, I might just gag you.”

Sulu’s voice cracks. It goes hoarse of its own accord, until he’s just whimpering. His as is spasming wildly. It can’t get used to it. If Khan were to let go of Sulu’s hips, he’d probably be pushed right out. So he doesn’t. He slides his fingers down to Sulu’s waist, leaving painful-looking red trails. Then he uses his new grip to pull out and slam back in, summoning another shriek. He does it again and again, working up a steady rhythm, fucking Sulu _hard_. There’s an instinct that takes over Khan, driving his hips, too brutal for humans, powerful and _feral_. Sulu’s wails drown out the slapping sounds and the heaving breathing on both ends. Khan notes with amusement that for someone so reserved, Sulu’s being very vocal now. 

And as much as Khan does like to gag his victims, Sulu does have a handsome voice, particularly when it’s breaking in pain over Khan’s cock. He milks every noise he can out of Sulu. One hard thrust after another, slamming inside over and over. He doesn’t reach around to touch Sulu. He knows he’s hitting Sulu’s prostate. Khan’s skin is burning, stomach tight and pulse racing, nerves on edge. He’s snarling without even realizing it. An animal over its prey. 

He leans down over Sulu’s breaking body, Sulu’s bound arms digging into his chest. He bites Sulu’s ear and runs hard teeth along Sulu’s jaw line, scarring his neck. Khan wants to make sure Sulu remembers this for a very, very long time, even after the soreness fades and he’s able to walk again, once the bruises on his ass and his waist and his throat are too faint to see. He’ll hold onto the memory, the feeling of being dominated and _owned_. Khan growls in his ear, “Beg me to let you come.”

Sulu moans without missing a beat, “Let me come.”

That isn’t very good begging. Khan hisses warningly and slams harder: more shrieks and cries, eyes scrunched shut. “A-ah! L-let me come, sir!” He says it like an official request. There isn’t any magic word. 

Khan hisses, still fucking him impossibly hard, “You’re mine, now. No one can take you like I can. Now one can bend you like I can. You’ll come to me again when I call you, and by then you _will_ learn how to beg properly, or I’ll break you in two.”

Sulu groans loudly. That’s it. He presses his hips back into Khan, which couldn’t have been easy, with Khan so in control, running everything. But it happens. The slight sign of eagerness, of silent surrender. Khan takes it. His cock’s too hard for this. 

He bites down in Sulu’s shoulder hard enough to draw blood, and as the copper wells up in his mouth, he explodes. Sulu roars, and Khan comes deep inside him, grinding in and spilling out, plugging up Sulu’s full channel, until it’s running out the side of his cock. He keeps pounding in to finish everything, ever last drop, and then he rips his teeth out, splattering little drops of red over pallid, gold skin. 

He keeps himself inside for a second. Catching his breath. Sulu’s practically convulsing beneath him, writhing wantonly, wincing and blushing all over. Khan jerks his cock out, and the cum comes dribbling with it. Sulu’s thighs look particularly nice painted a milky white. His cock is still hard. 

He didn’t ask properly. But he was still a good fuck. Khan contemplates this while he slips off the bed, walking around and grabbing a chunk of black hair, tugging Sulu over by it. Sulu’s hips slip down to the mattress. He’s sweaty and panting. He doesn’t quite whimper when Khan drags him to the side of the bed by his hair, but he grits his teeth like he wants to. 

Khan wipes his cock off on Sulu’s face. Then he strolls over to the corner and picks up his pants, stepping back into them. He pulls on his shirt. His jacket’s in the hall. 

Khan walks back to the bed and flips Sulu onto his back. Khan reaches down and grabs a firm hold of Sulu’s hard cock, stroking it up and down a few times, squeezing just right and playing with the head. Sulu’s done in a few seconds, spilling across himself and crying out again, arching up into Khan’s hand. 

A minute later he’s collapsing, spent and broken. Khan reaches under to undo his belt, pulling it back out, fastening it back where it belongs. He’s about to head for the bedroom door, when he bends down on a whim, pecking Sulu lightly on the lips. 

Sulu mumbles, “That... was amazing.”

Khan’s already in the other room, picking up his coat.

* * *

It’s the middle of the night. Khan’s fully dressed. He didn’t take anything off again once he put it all back on, even after getting tackled at the door and having half his jacket pulled off. Sulu now walks with a distinct limp that Khan plans to make permanent before he corners Harewood with a vile of blood. He likes to break beautiful things. 

Sulu, apparently, has a medical tricorder on hand. A precaution for fencing, he says. He fixes himself and earns bruises again. Three times in one night, little minx. 

To be fair, they got here early. Khan was going to be home before the moon was up. 

Now he’s lying on the empty mattress, waiting for the sun to come up. The sheets and the blankets are bunched on the floor. Khan’s belt is wrapped around Sulu’s throat, and otherwise Sulu’s naked—he never got any of his clothes back on. He’s curled up on his side, facing away from Khan, probably asleep. It took three rounds to fuck him unconscious. Khan’s not particularly proud of that. 

The second time, Sulu screamed ‘John’ when he came. Khan isn’t quite sure how he feels about that. Good, perhaps; it means he’s made an impression. But it’s not his name. 

Later, he thinks, when the Earth is in shreds, shrunk down to only the best, cowed into efficiency and ruled by greater beings, he’ll keep Sulu alive. A slave for his bed. Then Sulu will say the proper name, but only if given permission to talk, and he’ll say ‘please’ when he asks his master for gifts. He’ll wear only what he’s given, if anything at all, and he’ll sit at Khan’s feet while the rest of the Federation bows. 

For now, he rolls over in his sleep, nuzzling into Khan’s side. Khan subconsciously throws his arms around Sulu’s bruised shoulders, stroking them lightly.

Then he turns to kiss Sulu’s forehead, thinking of tomorrow.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much to [Barbayat](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Barbayat/profile) for making two lovely icons from this!!
> 
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